I cannot imagine having my cunt sawed into and then having to be motherfucking MEDEVACED for that shit.

You know what, no. I take that back.

I CAN imagine it.

That is one of many reasons why my vagina remains unsawed even as I type.

I once had a play partner lurch at me in the hallway of his home with a handheld electric saw going full blast and he grabbed me by the neck, grinning manically.

This would have been a terrifying proposition, as this individual was well known for being a crazy motherfucker.

Drilldo. Dumb, but more idiot proof.

However, I remained calm.

I’d met his girlfriend,you see.

“Dude,” I said, calmly, even as my toes were barely touching the floor and the saw shrieked and chittered near my head “…I know this is an idle threat. Your girlfriend would kick your ASS if you got blood on this rug, man.”

He paused, and sighed, turning off the saw.

“Yeah, she would.”

I’m as open to kinks as the next totally open-minded pervert. Wait-wait—Who am I kidding.

I am FAR more accepting than most pervs when it comes to kink. Perverts can be some judgemental motherfuckers.

But really?

Powertools?

When you see this shit on websites, mostly this is done by engineers and riggers and people for whim building fucked up scary looking machinery is a workaday concern.

Not some dude who didn’t get the memo that a toy attached to a blade will do its fucking JOB and cut though the toy.

An online friend recently wrote about their decision to kibosh writing scene reports. They questioned their motives. Was it “show-offery”?

Who was the report for, anyway, if not for the people involved to “strut their stuff”? And why yammer to the world about yo private biz-nass? What happens in the Dungeon stays in the Dungeon, right?

In my friend’s case, much of this reflection was precipitated by a critical response to a bit of reportage they’d done on a scene of their own.

Questions of ethics aside, I think it is a loss. As a writer, Scene Reports are an excellent way to stretch ones muscles when it comes to making the ethereal more real. It is a way to capture and share your experience. It is a way to further the scene, and permit those who might not have witnessed it to have a taste of what they missed. It is a way for those who might have witnessed it to glean further insight into what they think they saw :-)

In saying that an experience is “no one’s business” I feel that obliterates 99% of what makes us human and brings us to the public BDSM community. That being our desire to find like-minded pervs. To foster communication. It is the desire to connect, to say “Me, too!” or “Maybe someday!” or “No, thanks, not for me!”

I, for example, can read a scene report hat has a really hot description of a certain type of play that I’d not considered interesting to me. But from the point of view of a connoisseur, it becomes intriguing. SO, perhaps the next time someone offers me a sensory deprivation scene, I think “Hm. perhaps it isn’t a boring as I’d thought it would be…” and I take a step into a new direction!’

I’m not certain why someone would have a negative reaction to a scene report unless the tone was holier than thou, or somehow judgmental, or they simply were bringing their own baggage to the table.

I’ve written some myself. It was, of course, with the permission or foreknowledge of the people involved if they were specifically named. Or if the details were too obvious to conceal to the broader world. (One of the first Scene Reports I ever shared) was written while I was still involved with the person in question, and I posted it on a local mailing list. It was a fun way to share a new experience. It wound up in a solo show, and now is on an e-book anthology as well. Another one I wrote was to talk about a type of play that had been previously on my soft-limit list but took me to a really unbelievable place, and I felt compelled to share that.

I love reading a well-written scene report. I enjoy conducting workshops about how to create reportage around personal experience, and I REALLY love when I can share vicariously in experiences from the POV of someone who am not and will not be in this lifetime.

I think it is valuable, sexy, daring, thrilling, and a singular honor to be able to see that from the heart, soul and minds other players.

A little peek a boo into your bedroom or dungeon is a delectable treat.

Do YOU have a story you would like to share? Post a link here! :-D

A lazy afternoon in bed with my laptop. I am on IM with an online friend and under normal circumstances, I might take a moment to research the thing myself before responding “No.” I have a thing about gathering knowledge myself. A cursory search turns up very little so I respond to my unseen friend many miles away that no; I have no idea what a tribute picture is.

I brace myself for the response and I am well to have done so.

Evidently, the “Tribute” in question is semen and the “photo” in question is a face shot of the intended…target. The tributor masturbates onto the photo, (NSFW) getting all Jacks-off Pollock on a reproduction of someone’s unsuspecting visage.

Well.

“Would you care to see some examples?”

Yes.

And within a few minutes I was gazing upon a picture of a picture of a cock holding court over the jizz smeared photographs of an attractive smiling brunette.

To say I had a complex reaction would be an understatement.

It was in the midst of this rather elaborate emotional torte that the next question popped on my laptop screen

And there I was carefully selecting what picture I thought might best read covered in come.

I sent off several.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK?!?!” screamed Miss Prude Girl (Or PG, as I not-at-all-affectionately call her.) the rational calm part of me that still longs for normalcy and wishes we weren’t such a fucking weirdo pervert.

“You just sent your picture to some creepy ass masturbator who is gong to do god knows what and ejaculate on it then SEND YOU A FUCKNG PICTURE OF YOUR PHOTOGRAPH COVERED IN HIS GODDAMNED BODILY FLUIDS. Why why SWEET-BABY-JESUS-LYING-IN-THE-MANGER WHY?!!?”

Why not?

Yes, it is weird. But then again is it any weirder than standing naked in front of a room full of people being tied up after talking about how much you enjoy being humiliated and called all sorts of politically incorrect shit in order to sexually debase yourself in front of your partner? Because I do that shit all across America.

Is it any weirder than performing in a scene for an adult movie intended to be used as a goad to masturbatory fantasy?

Not really.

Is it much weirder than a mutual masturbation session where the end result is someone using your mouth as a convenient warm place to fuck while you are forced to take their emissions wherever they may land?

Possibly…but.

I have a general rule: say “Yes.”

Life is full of emotional eddies, flows rapids and oxbows,and I’ll be damned if I am going to miss out on a weirder yet exciting Log Flume of Freakitude because my prudish persona, deprived of her White Picket Fence lifestyle is MORTIFIED by the fact that we are idly wondering how our picture will look covered in a stranger’s semen.

“Plus it won’t end there!!!!” she wails. “You will talk about it on your fucking BLOG then EVERYONE will know!!!”

shrug

Yes, they will.

It was less than a day later then I received my “Tribute Photo.”

Two, in fact.

I sat and looked at them.

Lady Miss P.G. has nothing to say. She is so disgusted she has left my internal Star Chamber and is sitting in a corner sulking and playing Barbies.

The thought that someone I have never met fucking jerked off thinking about fucking my face gets me really hot.

The idea of being objectified is disproportionately arousing.

The fact of seeing the result of the fantasy is shocking. It REALLY HAPPENED and though I wasn’t there, I have proof.

It is phone sex without the voice line, camming without the feed, a peepshow without the sliding doors and sticky coins.

I am appalled at myself for encouraging this behavior.

Then I am irritated for being judgmental.

I can’t look at it and I can’t look away.

The emotional riptide never resolves into a nice tidy dénouement.

I still have a stark jagged bleeding emotional dichotomy about my desire to be used broken down and THEN put into a position of servitude by another person. Does this feed into that? he desire to be used and discarded?

One of the more romantic ideals within the BDSM world is that of collaring. But it is not a universal conceit: the symbolism varies wildly.

There are some folks for whom a collar is a nice accessory, an ornament, worn because it looks sexy. And it runs the gamut all the way to those for whom a collar = wedding ring and absolute slavery and ownership by another person. Some people think the whole thing is kinda crazy.

I am on the heavier symbolism end of the spectrum of this myself. I have never been “collared” by anyone, And as a result, collars are even more so now a symbol to which I choose to ascribe a very particular meaning.

When I was being formally trained to serve in a Leather Household, it was drummed into my head that collars were something to be earned, over time, and not something that one took on and off willy nilly on a daily basis. I have plenty of friends for whom that is not at all the case, but since I was in the midst of that protocol, I stood by that choice.

Plus who doesn’t want an accessory that is so fucking highly charged that even the thought of it can get you wet?

Shoe sluts, you know what I am talking about.

Purse whores know this too.

I have made [2] rare exceptions to the casual wearing of a collar. Once was in order to circumvent a situation I did not want to deal with at the time. I was going to be attending a kink event, and there was someone there whom I wasn’t certain I wanted to interact with. By wearing a collar and in the leash of a friend, I knew they’d back off, and give me the space I needed to reconsider my position and avoid a seriously awkward public discussion. Amusingly enough, it was as weird for my leash-holding friend as it was for me, as they are not a person who cares much for dominant / submissive play, being mostly into sadism / masochism. Ultimately, it was a learning experience for the both of us.

The other time was…it was a chance for me to wear a collar that meant a whole lot more to me than it did to the person who put it on. The fantasy of it was delicious. The reality was, it was just a nice accessory to them, although to me, for that period of time, it was more. It was Everything.

Not too long ago I thought about the fact that I haven’t yet had a D/S relationship that had attained that level of commitment. I thought about how that can be a tough thing, because we are pretty much acculturated to grow up get married and settle down. Even among radical pervery there is the sense of “longing” for that level of submission. You think women who are getting married obsess about a wedding ring? Ppfft. Try a newly collared submissive gushing on and on and on about the sanctity, symbolism, awe and power of her collar of submission.

Shit gets mad florid, yo.

I am a patient person these days, but there are some things I should not have to wait for.

It was originally listed as a children’s necklace, which I find creepy, but maybe this artist is a practitioner of that thing where little girls commit their virginity to their Dads. Purity Balls. The lovely Dharma wrote about that crazy shit in her blog *shudder*

Whatever. I digress.

The links are wee small little hearts, and the lock is brushed silver.

I love it.

Kink people sometimes ask me about my “collar”, and puzzle if they know I am not in service to anyone. I am glad to explain the collar is a talisman for my commitment to myself, to my spirit, all that happy crappy. Someties it feels like a brave face. Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me that I haven’t had anyone about whom I felt passionately return that energy and truly desire and demand that level of love and control.

Who knows.

But on days when I feel as though I want to do that emotional masochism and feel sorry for myself. it is nice to have that silvery reminder caressing my neck quietly whispering “You are loved.”

SO, I open my in-box on yet another site for kinky folks, and see what the tide of fortune had washed my way.

(Details have been altered to protect the baffling.)

I am a ## yo Caucasian male who, like you, is a non-smoker, although I do drink occasionally.
I would like to tie you up, blindfold and gag you, humiliate and punish you when you are bad (and even when you are good), and force you to cum over and over again while I am doing these things to you.
I PROMISE that you can trust me. I worked for {BIG ASS] Bank for ## years. People trusted me with their financial affairs, and keeping them confidential, so you can trust me with complete control over your body.

It has been my experience that Black women tend to be more submissive, and very caring and compassionate. This is why I am writing to you. I hope to be equally caring by forcing you to enjoy your submission.
I hope to receive your email soon.

I know it is tough. When you are surfing the interwebs to look for love, perhaps you lack the time to read every line of every profile of every woman into whom you want to stick your penis.

But please.

My gods.

Some of the responses I get to my profile.

This gem today in my mail from my ALT.com profile…

WOW -YOU AMAZE ME. YOU CUM stay with me 4 awhile. YUM – I’ll tie you to the bed till you say uncle. LOL Seriously I’d love to get to know you a lot better.

Seriously. NEVER.

This next one is less ridiculous and more along the lines of an awesome typo:

Having read your profile I’m not sure whether i’d want to kiss you, duck you senseless, or tie you down and beat the sass put of you.

If a sass-put is anything like a shot-put, I’ll pass. And I believe CA has laws against mallard mauling, but I’ll have to get back to you on that.

This next guy…holy shit.

Let me preface this with the fact that his picture is…well, it was him with a ……aw, fuck it.

Here is the photo he uses in his profile:

Seriously. Stop.

My desires is to gain control and not let the sub have any freedom. I want them to worship me like a God. My desires to my sub are to make them feel they cant do anything without me , make them into a doll and I, am the chains that move the doll. I have a years experience.

A year. A YEAR and you plan on Stepfording me?!?!

*chokes back a sob*

A most profound moment of Zen settled over my troubled soul like god’s hand on a restless sea when I received the following solicitation on the first contact …TEH FIRST MESSAGE, y’all…from a “person” on collarme.com:

damn you a big fine momma.you open to k9?

This is, at the VERY LEAST, a third date gambit.

I know you feel my pain, you who are online looking-for-love-or-a-reasonable-facsimile-thereof…

There are 47 reasons, on any given day, why kinky stuff gets my jeebies heebied.

One of the things I can enjoy, regardless of my emotional connection to my play partner, is rope bondage.

There are many aspects of kink that are intensely personal for me, things that get right into my head and places that remain locked away.

Not everyone gets to go there.

Hell, I don’t even go there most days.

Too dark and clammy.

But there are some types of play that I can enjoy purely on a physical level. So long as the top to whom I am bottoming is highly capable, and I am assured of their skill, I can “go there” and enjoy the ride.

Rope bondage is one of those play-styles

So…WTF?!?!

The loss of control over parts of your body is pretty intoxicating…the idea that your movement itself, the one thing since birth that you struggle to achieve and maintain, is now in the hands of someone else…that is something dangerous. Excitingly so.

It occurs to me that the secret wormhole I find when doing bondage is not just the loss of control: it is the deeper sense that every segment of rope is touched and energized by the person applying the bondage. That focused intent, that specificity, can elevate the inanimate rope to its own heightened state. It is as though every section of rope is imbued with, and carries the energy and control and caress of the one who is in control of it.

As the bondage becomes more binding or more complex, it is as though you are held in a physical manifestation of the thoughts of the person slowly taking from you the control of your limbs, skin, body…rope bondage can get to the point where even your breathing is restricted by the rope top. Imagine if every caress you felt while making love lasted and abraded and caressed and marked your skin in an after-shock of taut tension and sensation.

It is an echo that intensifies instead of fading.

It is a restriction that frees you to struggle and relinquish your control.

And if you add to that the many textures of rope, it is even more engaging. Slack silk ropes, slick serpentine nylon, earthy heady hemp, scritchy jute, stiff cotton. All of these have their own notes in the symphony of surrender. Simple, elusive, complex, difficult, joyous, terrifying, soft, brutal, beautiful.

Have something about kink that you’d like me to cover on a future WTF Wednesday? Contact me!